


STILL TECHNICALLY DRAFT, PUBLISHED SO IT WON'T BE DELETED. WILL EDIT TITLE WHEN FINISHED. Human, Devil, Angel

by FormlessSnow



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Aesthetic Photography, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Library, Alternate Universe - Midwife, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Photographer, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Angst, Beautiful, Cold Weather, Dancing, Dating, Diary/Journal, Forbidden Love, Forests, Happy, I put a lot of thought into this, If you only read one work by me, Illegal Activities, Letters, Love, M/M, Magical Tattoos, Mirrors, Mutant Powers, Mutants, Notes, OT3, Part of a New Project, Poet-Tree, Poetry, Polyamory, Post-War, Prosthetic Wing, Rebuilding, Sad, Sad and Beautiful, Sad and Happy, Synesthesia, Tattoos, Tree Climbing, Trees, Weather, Wing Grooming, Wing Oil, Wings, abandoned buildings, smoke, treehouse, urban decay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-01 08:26:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18796645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FormlessSnow/pseuds/FormlessSnow
Summary: Currently only published so it won't be deletedPeter was rain clouds and thunderstorms. Kurt was sunken ships and rocky waves. Warren was burnt forests and exhaust fumes.So I focused on making my story prettyIt was Poe in my heart and Shakespeare in my brainBut then I realized it’s just thinly veiled cakes I wanted to sellThe real story is not pretty poetry pretending to be proseIt’s nitty and gritty and dirty and filthThere’s no rhyme scheme, and I’ve been writing calligraphyBut everyone knows that the downstrokes are thickerAnd I’ve too heavy a heart to be supported on this upstroke





	STILL TECHNICALLY DRAFT, PUBLISHED SO IT WON'T BE DELETED. WILL EDIT TITLE WHEN FINISHED. Human, Devil, Angel

Peter was rain clouds and thunderstorms. He had the air of someone wise beyond his years. In a way, he was. He was new to the area, but he knew the place all too well. He could feel the eyes on him as he walked away. He knew he was an outsider. He wasn't so obviously a mutant. His hair was grey, but so much was grey nowadays. Some humans had grey hair. Not many humans were in this place. He passed through the city slowly, as if he _was_ human, although he knew he wasn't. He saw a woman with horns; a man walking on the air with his daughter, whose pink hair caught fire when she let go of him and dropped to the ground. The graffiti on the walls and signs spoke too loudly of the problems of the urban setting. The shattered windows of the buildings he passed were no match for the colorless plants trying to grow through them. He stepped carefully over the cracked brick. He saw a building that looked especially run down, and he walked toward it.

* * *

Warren was burnt forests and exhaust fumes. His white wing was constantly stained grey or rustic red. His mechanical wing was always covered or being used. When he wore his cloak over his wings, he had his facial tattoo to show off that he was a mutant. He had lost his real left wing carrying messages and resources throughout the war, which was traumatic for a ten-year-old. Everyone here knew him. Today, he was working as a midwife. Yesterday, he was a librarian; tomorrow he'd work for a mechanic. From what he heard, that mutant's ink would be on his arm. He walked away from it all today, to the place he had heard was condemned the longest and therefore used most often.

* * *

Kurt was sunken ships and rocky waves. He's been born in the human side of the city and dumped back here in the mutant sector before the bombs started flying. He was days old when the war started; he was twelve years old when it stopped. He had his share of scars. Nobody looked at him twice. His black hair, even with its blue streaks, was the most out of place thing here. Though his tail was sometimes in the way at home, it worked well in his job. He used it to help him pass out or make drinks. Nobody here noticed that he never wore shoes, or at least they never cared. Everyone knew the smell of his teleportation. They didn't acknowledge it. His skin was velvet smooth, marred only by his scars, and his observant eyes were golden. He looked out of his hole-in-the-wall shop, longing for more than this, and he finished the orders. When the customers all left, he willed himself away.

* * *

Peter climbed in through a hole in the wall, and he saw how strangely everything was distributed. There were cobwebs in the corners; the walls and ceiling were barely maintained. The stairs and floors were stained patchwork of new wood and worn-out stone. There was no dust on the lower walls, none on the ground. Broken windows let in rainwater that mixed with the dust. He sighed, sitting down to write a note out.

_It's strange here. I was six when the war started- I used to be allowed out. I used to be free. But I'm not anymore. Nobody is. We're trapped in the areas that nobody would ever crawl to to save their lives. We have half-existences. We've been trapped here for so long. Nobody recognizes us as people anymore- they used to. I still have nightmares. My father was one of the people who started it, by busting out of a trafficking ring. He used to care about me. He used to pretend to care about others._

_The world has gone to shit. It's all in all horrible, for us, for everyone. We might not have long left. My mother is dead. My father's best friend refused the ink and lives as a human. I'm always starving. I think I might go human some day, if I don't end it here before then. If I am dead by the time you read this, I'm sorry you read it. I wish you hadn't. If I'm still alive, I'm sorry you read it. I wish you hadn't._

He set down the book and pen, then looked out at the window at the glaring sun. "What else am I going to lose?" he asked nobody in particular. "Nobody gives a shit. Nobody hears me. Nobody wants to." He stood up and sped away.

* * *

Warren flew into the building through a broken window. As always, he angled heavily to the left as he slid downward. He frowned, seeing a journal laying on the ground. He picked it up, debating whether or not to read it. He figured nobody would mind, so he leaned against the stairway. He opened it slowly, and then read the crimped handwriting. It was horribly rushed, and smeared to shit, but he was able to angle the light from the sun onto the page with help from his metallic wing. He read it and immediately felt horrible for whomever had written it, so he looked around for a pen.

_Hey, I get it. Nothing's good anymore. My dad was a war guy too, for the humans. First generation! Sounds like your dad wanted to be free. I'm sorry for everything you feel, but you did none of it. Life may be difficult, but we're working at getting better. Everything is hell and we can't fix the planet, but we sure can try. Let the humans stay where they are. Last week, I saw a child born with the sweetest smile and the brightest eyes- looked kinda like her dad's but they were blue, not red. Her mom had to wear a collar from the time her heart began to beat because otherwise she would have lost the baby, but it wasn't humans that made that possible. It was mutants._

_I know a guy who has blue fur, and he's incredibly smart. He's the person bringing new technology to us to all of us who need it. He's also the sweetest person alive, and he has three children. The girl looked human at birth, but both her parents were mutants so we knew she would be too; she turns colors now when she's excited, and when she's sleeping she grows black fur with white spots. The older boy has red hair- and I don't mean ginger, I mean the color of a tomato. He set me on fire once. The younger boy's got paws and he's got four legs, and his skin is bright blue like his dad. His other dad- biologically, both of them are his parents!- can make explosions from his chest. He's pretty cool- and it apparently runs in the family, his little brother does it from his eyes. I don't know what your mutation is, but I'm sure there's a way we can keep you safe._

After, he carefully tucked the pen in the page and set it back down, getting up to look around for anything that hinted the unknown mutant would return. Finding nothing, he decided to start cleaning up as best he could. He used his biological wing to dust as far as he could reach, then stored the broken glass in a hidden compartment of his metal wing. He decided he'd ask for an upgrade when Hank had had time to visit with and meet the mechanic who had moved into the city. He looked out at the dawn sky when he was done, smiling to himself as he flew off back to his nest.

* * *

Kurt teleported himself onto the only dust-free spot on the ceiling, an old chandelier that was somehow still strong enough to hold him. He kept that place tidy so he could see his way around without crashing into anybody, and he saw absolutely nobody that day. Sometimes, there were people there when he showed up in the afternoon, and he would offer them coffee or food. Instead, he saw a somewhat cleaned up area and he sighed softly as he teleported back down. He'd been wanting to clean up, but he didn't really know much about the area and was unsure if he should.

He teleported down onto the ground, pulling his Bible from his pocket. His Bible was put together with scraps from everywhere he could find them. He knew that there was no Pope; there was no priest to help him gain entry to Heaven. But he could still study the scriptures he had to the point they were worn and faded. He licked his fangs subconsciously, wondering if there was any way he could get into heaven. Eventually, he tucked the pages back into his coat and decided to explore the rest of the floor. The upper level of the building wasn't open to all; it was a place that only mutants with alcohol or drugs- or a  _wish_ to have alcohol or drugs- ever used, and so he avoided it carefully. But he did find that there was a space perfect for a structure to be built. He started to map it out with a bit of charcoal he'd found outside the inner wall. As he sketched it, he hummed softly until he kicked a book with a pen in it. He picked it up and read it, and he wanted to respond before he saw the second person's response. Deciding against responding directly, he left a sketch on the top of it, from a spare paper bag he'd had on him, and wrote in his best handwriting, 'Build with me?'

"I hope that they're okay," he whispered softly. He teleported away.

* * *

Peter found the drawing on his book, and at first he figured that the person was talking to a lover. But then he opened his journal to the next page, and read the response from some other. Immediately, he realized somebody had read his words and didn't want him to give up. He laughed when he read about the families of mutants, and he decided to give it another go. The structure looked nice- a tree house with five branches and a little spot in the middle with a rug and a stack of books. Peter grinned, standing up, and he ran to his father's workshop to get materials.

Peter made the base out of what used to be an old Christmas tree, made entirely out of metal as a gift for his mother. His mother had denied it in favor of siding with humans and his father had hidden the tree, in shame and hatred. Now, the tree was stripped of its branches and twined around a beaten-up trash bin, and then welded into place. Soon, the base was five feet instead of ten, and he grinned before he started on the ladder.

After he finished, he sat and wrote in the next page.

_You know what? I think I'll stick around. I like the idea of building the treehouse. Maybe I can convince my dad to give us a lamp? He makes them sometimes when he's feeling out of control. Something about the 'delicate nature of electricity'. You'd have to supply the rug. Where do you find books around here anyway? Neat idea but where would they come from? Is there a book store? Do we steal from the humans and caravans?_

_Either way, it'd be cool to make something together. I made the base and a ladder already, is it big enough? Or were you thinking bigger?_

_And how are you? Who are you? At least tell me about yourself. I live above Erik's Metalworks. Not much, three tiny rooms, a kitchen, bath, and everything-else. Probably basements bigger than the whole place but I digress. I share the above space with six other dudes and a lady who literally evaporated a rusty pipe once. I like to go into the woods._

_I work as a photographer. A lot of it's aesthetic, some of it goes to closet mutants or to people who aren't allowed here because they're humans even though they want to be here. Most of it's just for my dad's shop though. Do you want some of that here? Hey, I could get some books from the people I take photographs for! What kind of stuff do you like?_

_\- P. M._

He left a photograph of a black wolf pup on the page, laying on a green felt pile. Its great golden eyes were beautiful.

* * *

Warren snuck inside, seeing the tree base, and he felt kind of weird. Not that he couldn't handle weird. But still.

He picked up the book, and he read the response from the other. Frowning, he reread it, then picked up the pen.

_P.M._

_I didn't come up with the idea of building. Someone else joined the conversation. Whoever you are, come and write to us._

_I live in the Westbreak Halfway, east building, top floor. I have two rooms, a bathroom amd an everything else that has a stove on one side and a bed on the other. It's horrible but I make it work. Rent's cheap enough- it's just ten bucks and a turn washing the lobby each month. Money is useless in there but it's a gem here. Go figure._

_There's a book store that I work for that prints the writings of anyone who brings their stuff, and a library that buys a copy. We make paper out of cannabis and we have bind them in whatever we can find. I can bring some books. I don't have a rug but I can get stuff for the branches. I'll talk to you next time._

_-WWIII_

Warren set about with structuring and building one of the branches of the tree, working until he cramped and had to fly home.

* * *

_I'm sorry, WWIII and P.M._

_I read the letters and felt sad. I wanted to help. We all need a friend sometimes, and something to work on. I should have left it alone. I_ _have a rug I don't need. I'm never home anyway. I think it's from my mother. It just takes up a box I could use for food. The size of the tree is good if it's comfortable for both of you._

_I live in the brick district. I rent space in the backyard for a tent. I bring food for everyone so I don't pay. I have one room only but I go inside to use one of the bathrooms. There are worse arrangements- seven boys in one room directly to the left of the restroom. Three in the bed, a hammock on the ceiling, two in the window and one on a cot in the closet. I think there are about twenty-six in my part of that house._

_I left a box of danishes next to the tree, and two black coffees. I work in the café. I hope you like them. They might be cold by the time you find them. I also brought a heater, for the room, in case it gets cold. I have a fireplace in my tent._

_-K.W._

* * *

_WWIII and K.W._

_Wow. I'm sorry, I feel bad... I liked the danish, K.W. And the coffee was great. Thank you. But you don't have to provide for me._

_I stabilized the parts where the branches break off. It's a pain but it works now. And I brought more scraps if we need them. I got the heater opporational, my dad taught me how a few years ago. I met the guy you were talking about, WWIII, with the fur and the kids? Also your initials sound like World War Three. I hope that's far off. But if it was then you'd be the nicest war I've ever met._

_You two are absolute angels. You saved my life. I left two copies of a photograph, one of my favorites. To try to make your places feel better. Like home. Thank you guys for helping._

_-P.M._

* * *

_P.M. and K.W._

_First, thank you for the food and coffee. Means a lot to me. And it was great, by the way._

_Second, this photo is even better than the wolf! Where did you find a clean waterfall? And I think that tree is a maple. I love the picture._

_I am not a war but there is a 'War' in my name so that's fun._

_I don't have anything to show but I will tomorrow. So I made the last branch and I have the books. One of them is an old book of fairy tales and the another is some old lady's Bible. I'm not religious but maybe one of you are? Be careful. You can see the damage done to it._

_And really? How'd you like him? He's honestly the best. Everyone loves Hank._

_-W_ _WIII_

 

 


End file.
